“What can I do?”
“You carry the vegetables into the dining room while I get the chicken.” Becky Lennon organized her Sunday dinners with the efficiency of a marine drill sergeant. In moments, the whole of Jacquie’s family was seated around the table.
As soon as her grandpa had given thanks for the food and the melting snow, Erin started talking. “Grandma, guess what? I’m getting riding lessons this week with Rhys Lewellyn. Is that amazing, or what?”
“That’s nice, honey.” In the middle of serving herself a slice of chicken, Jacquie’s mother looked across at Erin. “Lewellyn? Isn’t that…?” Her frowning gaze moved to Jacquie.
“That’s right.” Jacquie spoke over the gallop of her heartbeat. “I trained with him in New York. He’s just moved down here with his horses, and Erin’s dying to get his help with her riding.”
“More than just training,” Alicia said. “As I recall, you had a huge crush on Rhys Lewellyn. Every phone call was about how handsome he was, how he smiled—”
“You’re exaggerating,” Jacquie said, though her impulse was to scream Shut up! “I liked him a lot. He’s a good teacher.”
“And gorgeous?” Alicia prompted.
“Okay, yes. Still is, for that matter.” She hoped her appraisal came across as casual.
Erin’s eyes were round with surprise. “Mom? You and Mr. Lewellyn went out together?”
“No.” They’d never gone on dates because he’d been married. “No, Erin, we didn’t go out together. I was young, he was attractive and older and paid attention to me because I rode well. End of story.” More or less.
“Except that the next thing we knew, you’d moved halfway across the country, married Mark Archer and were having a baby.” Alicia shook her head. “You always were crazy, but that year had to be one of the craziest.”
When Jacquie glanced across the table, her mother’s frown hadn’t eased. So much about that time in her life had gone unexplained, she wouldn’t be surprised if Becky Lennon’s suspicions were easily aroused.
Damn you, Rhys. Damn you for showing up to ruin my life yet again.
Desperate for distraction, she turned to her sister-in-law. “Sandy, I hear you got your nursery set up this week. Have you finished sewing the curtains and quilts? When can I come see?”
Listening to Sandy’s glowing description of ruffles and rainbows, Jacquie recalled the “nursery” she’d arranged for Erin almost fourteen years ago—a thrift-shop crib in the corner of her one-room apartment over the barn, with worn baby sheets borrowed from the family she worked for and a yellow blanket representing her first and only attempt at knitting. Crooked and lumpy, the yellow blanket had been Erin’s “friend” until she went to kindergarten, and rested safe now at the bottom of their family keepsake box.
Alicia took over the conversation at that point. Jacquie tried to relax and enjoy her baked chicken, but her stomach was fisted tight. Thankfully, she got her plate scraped off and into the dishwasher before her mother noticed. And she got Erin out of the house before the subject of Rhys Lewellyn could come up again.
Her daughter had left most of her homework until the last day of vacation, of course, and they struggled through the rest of the day with an English paper and an algebra worksheet. Jacquie could help with the writing assignment, but algebra had never been her strong point.
“Alicia got all the math genes,” she told Erin, when they’d both worked on a problem and failed to get the correct answer. “She’s the brain and Jimmy and I are the brawn of the family.”
“Can we call her and ask her to come over? It’s still early.”
“According to whom? It’s after nine o’clock. Alicia’s ready for bed by now. She gets up at five to walk, remember?”
“She could skip her walk and drive me to school.”
“I’ll drive you to school. I’m having breakfast with Phoebe tomorrow morning.”
“Can I go, too? Maybe Phoebe could do my math.”
Jacquie sighed and shook her head. “You’re going to have to ask your teacher for help, Erin.”
“But, Mom…!”
Between a troubled night’s sleep and the usual early-morning scramble to find school clothes and make lunch, Jacquie felt she’d lived through a whole day by the time she drove into New Skye and dropped Erin off at the school door.
Across the street from the school, however, was Charlie’s Carolina Diner, where she knew she could get good food and a healthy helping of friendship. Kids at New Skye High School had been hanging out at the Carolina Diner after class and on weekends since long before she and her friends took up the tradition. Many of them still came back as adults—to catch up with each other and the latest news in town, or, like Jacquie, for a chance to unwind.
“It’s only eight-thirty,” she said, sliding into the booth where Phoebe Moss waited for her. “And I’m already exhausted.”
“I know the feeling. What’s going on?” Phoebe flipped her long, ash-blond braid behind her shoulder and cupped her hands around her mug of tea.
Jacquie caught a glimpse of a sparkle on her best friend’s ring finger. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let me see that rock you’re carrying around.”
Grinning, Phoebe stretched her left hand across the table to show off a diamond engagement ring. “We got it in New York while we were there over the holidays.”
“Fabulous. I love the emerald cut. Where did it come from?”
“Tiffany’s.”
“Oh, wow.” Jacquie sat back in awe. “Adam really does things with style, doesn’t he?” Adam DeVries, Phoebe’s fiancé, was a childhood friend of Jacquie’s and a fellow graduate in the class of 1989. Elected mayor in November, he would assume his office in a matter of days.
Phoebe’s grin turned into a dreamy smile. “We had the most wonderful time—skating at Rockefeller Center, a carriage ride in Central Park in the snow, museums and restaurants and shows…” She sighed. “Everything was simply perfect.”
“And now you’re back home, stepping out as the fiancée of the new mayor of New Skye. Are you ready?”
Her friend gave a mock shudder. “Just organizing the swearing-in party has me going crazy. But tell me about you and Erin. What’s going on that’s making you so tired?”
She toyed with her napkin. “The holidays were great. We loved the snow, of course, since we don’t get much. But…”
“But?” Abby Brannon arrived at their table with coffee for Jacquie and fresh tea for Phoebe. As the owner’s daughter, Abby had worked in the diner since she was a little girl. Not much happened in the town of New Skye she didn’t know about. More important, she’d been Jacquie’s close friend all during high school. “Something wrong with the horses? With Erin? Your parents? Your sister-in-law’s not due till February, right?”
“Oh, no. Everybody’s fine.” She shouldn’t have started this, Jacquie realized. How much could she say without revealing the truth she’d never told a soul, not even her best friends? “There’s a new trainer in town, Rhys Lewellyn.”
“The Olympic champion?” Phoebe kept horses, and would know his name.
“That’s the one. Erin’s crazy to take lessons from him.”
“And he doesn’t teach?”
“Yes, he does.”
Both Abby and Phoebe looked puzzled.
“It’s just…I worked with him, back before Erin was born. And we parted on bad terms. So having him as her teacher would be…difficult.”
“You don’t have to socialize, right?” Abby shrugged. “Just take her to the lesson and drive away when it’s done.” A bell rang behind the counter along the back wall. “Your breakfast is up. I’ll be right back.”
Phoebe nodded at Jacquie. “I agree. Write the check and don’t talk to him any more than you have to.”
If only it were so easy. “You know Erin. She thinks everybody should be friends. And she’d take a lesson every day, if I said okay. But I…” Her excuses sounded so weak. And the fear insi
de her was so strong.
“You…?”
Jacquie tried to tell the truth. “After what happened between us, I can’t bear the thought of seeing him that often.”
Not the whole truth, of course. Not the part about how being within a few feet of Rhys had been enough to set her pulse to pounding, just as it had when she was eighteen years old. How she’d caught herself wanting to trace the lines on his face with her fingertips, to rub the pad of her thumb over his lips. How, after years of banishing every wisp of memory, last night she’d dreamed of the past and all the lovely hours she’d spent in Rhys Lewellyn’s arms.
Phoebe swallowed a sip of tea. “Sounds to me like there’s more to this than you’re telling.”
“Well…yes,” Jacquie admitted, folding the napkin into crisp, even pleats. “I had a crush on him at the time. So it’s hard to meet him again as an old-widow woman with a kid.” How hard, she wasn’t prepared to say.
Her friend nodded. “I can see how that would be awkward. You could just tell Erin ‘no,’ right? She would survive.”
The only way to keep Erin and Rhys from seeing each other would be to forbid her to have anything to do with horses altogether. “I don’t think that would work.”
“Well, then, just concentrate on the bad and try to forget the good stuff.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking. “He’s probably insufferable, anyway. Arrogant and callous.”
That wasn’t fair. “Only when someone doesn’t give him their best effort.”
“And peremptory,” Abby added, setting down their plates. “Always ordering people around.” She leaned against the side of the booth.
“He can be,” Jacquie admitted. “But—”
Across the diner, the bell on the door jangled as another customer came in. Jacquie glanced at the new arrival, then looked again and felt the blood rush to her face.
“What’s wrong?” Phoebe had her back to the door, but she could, no doubt, read the trouble in Jacquie’s flaming blush. “Who is it?”
Abby gave a long, low whistle. “Speak of the devil. My guess is that Mr. Rhys Lewellyn just walked in. And we left out his most obvious character trait.”
Eyes wide, Phoebe looked from Abby to Jacquie. “Which is…?”
“He’s gorgeous,” Abby said. “With a capital G.”
Phoebe turned in her seat to get a quick peek. Flushing, she sat back again, facing Jacquie. “Oh, yes.”
Beside Jacquie, Abby straightened up. “And he’s heading this way.”
CHAPTER THREE
OTHER THAN THE CHANCE to pick up a cup of coffee for the twenty-minute drive back to Fairfield Farm, Rhys hadn’t expected anything out of his visit to the diner across the street from Andrew’s school. Finding Jacquie inside was a stroke of good luck he was sure he didn’t deserve, but one he intended to take full advantage of.
She had friends with her—a plump, chestnut-haired beauty standing by her shoulder and a cool blonde seated in the booth. They reminded him of watchdogs. If he didn’t behave, he had a feeling they were prepared to chase him off the premises.
“Good morning,” he said as he approached the table. “Is this where weary parents come to recover from the struggle of getting teenagers out of bed before noon?”
Jacquie grinned. “There’s a special pot of double-strength coffee set aside for those of us who need it.” Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered she didn’t want to talk to him, the grin faded. “Let me introduce you to some of your new neighbors. This is Abby Brannon.” She nodded to the woman standing beside her. “She and her dad Charlie run the Carolina Diner. Phoebe Moss,” she said, gesturing to the blonde, “lives just down the road from me, and when she’s not taking care of rescue horses, she works as a speech therapist. Abby, Phoebe, this is Rhys Lewellyn.”
“I’m glad to meet you.” Rhys tried out a smile on each of them, without much success. Phoebe’s gray gaze seemed to possess X-ray powers with which she intended to expose his every sin. If Jacquie had shared the details of their personal history with her friend, then there were a hell of a lot of sins to be found.
“Would you like anything else with your coffee?” Abby had a commercial interest to protect, he understood, which forced her to talk to him. “Doughnut, biscuit, piece of pie?”
“Just coffee, thanks.” When he smiled again, she lifted the corners of her mouth slightly, but he wasn’t sure that counted as progress.
“I’ll bring it out right away. Can I get y’all anything else?” She looked at Jacquie and Phoebe, who shook their heads, before hurrying off to the kitchen.
“This seems to be a popular place for breakfast,” Rhys commented, trying to keep the conversation going. No one, he noticed, had asked him to sit down.
“And lunch and dinner.” Jacquie looked around the room instead of meeting his eyes directly. “Most people in New Skye probably eat at the Carolina Diner at least once a week.”
“Some of them eat here every day,” Phoebe said, as the bell on the door jingled yet again. “Like my fiancé. Adam?” She lifted her hand and waved to the dark-haired man coming in the door, who quickly joined them.
Rhys stepped closer to Jacquie as the newcomer bent to give Phoebe a kiss. “Good m-morning, s-sweetheart, I didn’t know you’d be here. I’d have c-come in s-sooner.”
Phoebe’s smile was gentle as she laid her palm along the man’s jawline. “I came for breakfast with Jacquie.”
“S-sorry, Jacquie.” The guy straightened up and grinned. “I didn’t m-mean to ignore you.”
“That’s okay—you have your priorities right.” She winked at him, with a camaraderie Rhys envied. “Let me introduce you to Rhys Lewellyn. Rhys, this is Adam DeVries, Phoebe’s fiancé and, incidentally, the mayor-elect of New Skye. Adam, Rhys moved in during the snowstorm.”
“W-welcome to the area.” DeVries extended a strong hand. “Where are you c-coming f-from?”
“New York.”
The mayor-to-be laughed. “Well, if you were hoping to escape the sn-snow, don’t worry—we don’t usually get this m-much. Every f-few years we’ll have a fr-freak storm, but m-mostly we see an inch or two that melts by m-morning.”
Relieved at the absence of undercurrents, Rhys smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. The horses thought we’d done all that driving for nothing.”
“Horses?” DeVries sat down beside Phoebe, who scooted over to make room. “This is a good part of the country f-for horses. I know Jacquie’s been riding since she could walk—did the two of you know each other before you arrived?”
Rhys looked at Jacquie and found her staring at him, her eyes wide with alarm. He turned back to DeVries. “Jacquie came up to train at my barn, quite a few years ago. But we haven’t been in contact—it’s just my luck that she’s in this area.”
Abby returned just then to hand him a large foam cup with a cover. She saw Adam and gave a genuine smile. “Morning, Mr. Mayor. What’ll you have?”
“’M-morning, yourself, M-Miss Abby. The usual will be great.” DeVries looked up at Rhys. “Can you s-sit down with us?”
“I—” He would have refused—Jacquie obviously didn’t want him here. But, still without looking at him, she moved over into the corner of the booth, which left him no other option. “Sure, I’ll sit down for a few minutes.”
DeVries was a personable man, and a politician, so the conversation flowed easily enough for the next few minutes, until Rhys thought even Jacquie had begun to relax beside him. At least she’d eaten some of her breakfast. His awareness of her was like sitting near a blazing fire on the winter’s coldest night—the burn along that side of his body created a penetrating warmth that reached all the way to his core. Only as the ice began to melt did he realize he’d been frozen for fourteen long years.
“Have you met Erin?” DeVries asked, then smiled at Abby as she set his breakfast plate on the table. “Jacquie’s daughter is every bit as horse crazy as her mother was at that age. And from what Phoebe tells me, she’s really good.”
<
br /> “I’ve talked to her on the phone. Jacquie and I are supposed to set up some lessons, I believe.” Rhys risked a glance to his left and found Jacquie’s gaze focused on the napkin her fingers were busy folding into a fan. “I’m looking forward to that.”
“Do you have a family, Rhys?” Phoebe Moss had evidently decided to suspend hostilities…or else she planned to come in under his radar.
“I’m divorced. My son Andrew lives with me.”
“How old is Andrew?”
“Going on fifteen.” Beside him, Jacquie stiffened for a moment, then relaxed again.
“Just a little older than Erin. Does he ride?”
“He could hardly help it, given the family business. Our branch of the Lewellyns has trained and sold horses for a couple of centuries, now, in Wales and the U.S. But Andrew does love it, thank God. He’s aiming for the Olympics.”
Phoebe buttered a piece of toast. “Like his father?”
DeVries looked up. “The Olympics?”
“Rhys has been to the Olympics twice,” Jacquie said. “He took a gold medal last time in eventing.”
The other man quirked an eyebrow. “I apologize. I didn’t recognize your name.”
Rhys shook his head. “No reason you should. Equestrian events aren’t as widely publicized as, say, track-and-field.”
“And what is eventing, exactly? I’m still being initiated into the horse world.”
“Eventing—held at what we call horse trials or three-day events—is a competition designed to test the endurance, athleticism, and discipline of horse and rider. The first day’s test is a dressage performance, in which we execute a complicated series of figures on flat ground within a ring of specified length and width.”
The mayor-elect nodded. “Right. I’ve watched dressage.”
“On the second day, horse and rider compete in the speed and endurance section, which includes several elements of fast work. The most impressive is the actual cross-country run, over seven kilometers or so on a course which includes obstacles ranging from simple fences to water hazards, even buildings to ride through. Each ride is timed, and any refusal or fall pretty much eliminates the pair for the entire event.”
The Fake Husband Page 4
